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  • Writer's pictureAram Mitchell

the abundance of stillness

Updated: Feb 23

I’m trying to listen. To listen to the intelligence of my body. To the way my legs long to take me for long walks to sort out my thoughts. To the pace of my breath when I breathe. To the pitch of my voice when I talk. To the din of desperation in the air, and to the questions behind my urgency to react.

I’m trying to listen to the ideas wrapped up in words composed by others who are trying to listen. And to other things. To the way the frost on the hood of Lauren’s car melted into mist when the sun hit our driveway this morning. To the slow ebb of the tide at the back cove where my friend and I met to walk this afternoon. To the quiet sacrifice in the fact that we forwent our customary hug.

I’m trying to listen for some soil that I can root myself in; for some wisdom to serve as my anchor. I’m trying to listen to the melody behind the menace. I can hear it hum, I think. I can hear it when I cock my ear towards it. It’s a whisper encased in patience; more subtle than most promises you’ll hear. It’s there in the stillness, I think. It’s there in the abundance of stillness that can be almost as scary as crisis itself.

But I’m trying to listen, to be brave enough to welcome some of this present quiet. I’m trying to not drown out all the stillness.

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